


Walking On Fire

by Sand3



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Dark Reign (Marvel), Gen, Myth Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sand3/pseuds/Sand3
Summary: “Did you need something?” Ares asked.“To know what you see,” Daken replied quietly. “I don't think anyone else has noticed, but I have... Now what could possibly inspire agodto pussyfoot around a mere mortal?”Ares was quiet for a while longer before answering, “There are very few gods your masters have ever held in congress.”“... How did you know?”“You think that you're not marked?” Ares let out a soft chuckle.





	Walking On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Allusions to abuse  
> Allusions to mythological incest  
> References to torture  
> Panic attack  
> Dark. This is an exploration of myth mechanics. Mythology is fucking _dark_ , you guys.

Ares had a boisterous personality with a morbid sense of humor. It was to be expected from a god of all things violent and aggressive. What grated slightly was that while Ares would cheerfully bully, guffaw and slap most of his teammates on the back in a 'good natured' way, his manner toward Daken was comparatively reserved. In fact, the only time he ever laid a hand on Daken was when he was pulling an incensed Bullseye off of him. Which he'd done three times now. Add to that the regularity with which Daken caught the god watching him in quiet interest, and there seemed to be a certain level of preoccupation.

Daken was used to people being fascinated by him, it was a biproduct of his powers whether he was trying or not. But Ares wasn't 'people', and nothing about it read as a carnal interest. The idea that the god's interest in him was something _other_ perturbed Daken, and two weeks after joining Osborn's little vanity project, Daken finally managed to catch him alone on one of the communal balconies, the rest of the 'team' scattered to their selfish whims while no PR-worthy disasters were underway.

Daken stepped through the glass French doors, listening to the smooth scrape of Ares sharpening his axe as the god lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. He paused, taking a few extra seconds to watch Daken shutting the doors behind him and approaching, before Ares went 'casually' back to his weapons maintenance. Daken strolled over, settling himself on the deck-chair next to Ares and was quiet for a minute, watching him.

“Did you need something?” Ares asked after a while, continuing to watch the blade of his axe as he moved the whetstone along it.

“To know what you see,” Daken replied quietly. Ares hand stilled after one last scrape, but his eyes stayed on the blade. “I don't think anyone else has noticed, but I have... Now what could possibly inspire a _god_ to pussyfoot around a mere mortal?”

Ares was quiet for a while longer before answering, “There are very few gods your masters have ever held in congress... Of Olympus, myself and Apollo were best loved by the Romans, but the Feronia never much cared for my brother.”

Daken turned to stare out at the city for a few minutes, processing that and pinching his tongue between his teeth not _quite_ hard enough to cut into it. Finally, he pressed on. “How did you know?”

“You think that you're not marked?” Ares let out a soft chuckle. “... Most gods wouldn't be able to discern the signature, but they'll still notice there is something quite august gilding you.”

Daken bit down on his lip and felt himself tremble slightly, stomach churning. A few more minutes of silence elapsed, but Ares didn't go back to sharpening this time.

“I can understand why your anointment may be... uncomfortable,” Ares said. His scent was so far from human, Daken hadn't yet learned to discern meaning behind the variations in it, but his vocal inflection held conflict and a tiny hint of _pity_. “What you are is a great honor, albeit not an easy one.”

“What I _am?_ ” Daken hissed and turned to glare at him. “I am _many things_ , Ares. Don't be coy. Let us be sure we _understand_ each other. Say it. What _am_ I in your eyes? What do you _see?_ ”

There was another long pause as they stared each other in the eye. “... _Hirpi Sorani_ ,” Ares whispered at last, barely audible even to Daken, and with the light wind caressing the balcony, Osborn's domestic surveillance tech would miss it.

Daken pursed his lips, continuing to glare for another minute. He didn't have to feign offense; Ares _knew_ something about him that Romulus had never seen fit to tell. But Daken didn't let on that the words were unfamiliar. He didn't let Ares see that this was new information. He let the god believe that he was simply treading upon a sensitive subject.

After a suitable pause for scornful indignation, Daken rose to his feet and made an irate retreat.

000

Weeks of digging, wardriving and VPNs, wading through public and university libraries, had yielded only one lone sentence of Pliny about a man named Valerius. He said that Valerius was crucified for breathing the name of the _Hirpi Sorani_ onto the lips and whispers of the Roman people. Pliny had gone into no further detail on the matter. Desperation had Daken near ready to give up and beg Ares for more, though Ares would probably refuse. If he really did see Romulus as some kind of friend, then likely the only reason he'd let the name slip in the first place was a mistaken belief that Daken already knew it.

And so he found himself, on a Wednesday afternoon, sitting in the communal recroom, too discontented to put any serious effort into disrupting Lester's attempt to watch the baseball game, and taking cold comfort in the fact that at the very least his presence was a frustration to the man. Karla was taking advantage of Daken's listlessness to fire the latest salvo in their war and drape her legs across Lester's lap while lounging sideways on the couch. Daken was fairly certain Karla would have held little interest in him if she hadn't noticed the level of influence Daken had over Lester. It was fine though; her spiteful, and ultimately ineffectual, opposition made it more fun.

Lester had one hand on Karla's thigh as he and Mac chattered about player stats (who was a hack, who they'd like to kill with a multitude of possible weapons, whose brains they'd like to eat) while Daken stared unfocused at the screen, his mind drifting stolidly on their voices. Ares had taken one of the easychairs; Daken wasn't sure if he liked baseball or if he was trying to bond with his 'team' in some capacity. His presence, the gnawing questions he hoarded the answers to, scratched and tore at Daken's fraying nerves. Until, once again, fate and the God of War provided.

A new scent (fur, sea spray, wood smoke, tar, mistletoe) abruptly swept the room as a figure materialized from thin air behind Ares' chair and leaned down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Ares, you are looking well, but I must _say_ I am rather surprised to find you under the thumb of such a pathetic little mortal as Norman Osborn,” the goddess sing-songed smugly.

“I am under the _thumb_ of no man,” Ares growled, turning his head to glare up at her. “There is a war to be fought and glory to be won. _That_ is what I am here for.”

She straightened up and raised a hand to her mouth, tittering in a manner that made Ares’ eyes narrow dangerously. “Oh, my mistake then, dear Ares. Battle for battle’s sake is surely the noblest of callings indeed.”

“Twenty bucks on Ares,” Gargan whispered.

“Make it fifty,” Lester said with a grin, not bothering to whisper. “I will _totally_ put my money on Loki.”

“Wait, that’s _Loki?_ ” Gargan hesitated. “Never mind. I don’t want to bet.” He paused for nearly a full minute before asking, “Loki’s a _chick?_ ”

Lester started snickering and the Karla snorted, rolling her eyes.

“What do you _want_ , Loki?” Ares demanded.

“Merely to extend pleasant greeting to an admired colleague,” Loki offered an _almost_ sincere smile. “I was so sad to hear about your father. Such a tragedy.”

Ares glared.

“But it seems to me _you_ have rebounded from Olympus’ destruction most skillfully, Ares. It is so nice to see your talents being appreciated again,” she noted, laying a hand on Ares’ bicep. “The mortals do so adore their ‘heroes’, don’t they? And the Avengers, well there’s simply none more adored! I mean, it worked wonders for _Hercules’_ ratings in the popularity polls, now didn’t it?”

“And where did you steal this body from, Loki?” Ares snorted derisively, changing the subject.

“Do you like it?” Loki asked with a coy smile. “I’ve grown a bit fond. I suppose this is what a child with a new doll to costume might feel like.”

Ares scoffed. “It is always games with you. So now even your _body_ is a toy to be played with, is it?”

“Would you like to play with my body, Ares?” Loki murmured, dark and sweet. Ares made a guttural, disgusted sound, crossing his arms. “But then I suppose you’d rather play with a sister or a cousin, that _is_ what Olympians prefer, isn’t it?”

A snarl started to form on Ares’ lip but quickly smoothed itself into a smirk as a slight glint came to Ares’ eye. “As you only _wish_ it were in Asgard, eh?” he challenged. “I suppose you went to all this trouble,” he gestured, indicating Loki’s body, “to catch Thor’s eye? And how disappointed were you when he could not even afford you a second glance?”

“Oh _snap!_ ” Gargan exclaimed and Lester started laughing.

Loki was blank for a few seconds. “Well. I suppose it’s a bit much to hope that the war-god might be possessed of some small measure of civility,” she said at last, her tone faux-airy with an undercurrent of tension. “I only came to be _polite_ and give you the consideration of a proper greeting, Ares. I see no call for you to be unpleasant and I have no interest in being abused any longer.” She straightened and strode toward the door. It wasn't clear why she was choosing to walk rather than disappear in a puff like she'd arrived, but it was an opportunity not to be passed up.

Daken shoved himself off the couch and strode as quickly as he could while maintaining some level of nonchalance to catch her a few paces from the door, putting on a sweet, disarming smile. “Please allow me to apologize for my teammate. While there is no one I would rather have on my side in a fight, obviously Ares' sense of _decorum_ is a bit lacking,” Daken said, offering his hand and turning every kind of charm at his disposal up to high.

Loki's lips stretching into a slow grin. “How good it is that _someone_ in your little fraternity values social graces,” she said, laying her hand into Daken's, palm downwards and wrist relaxed. He took the cue and kissed it.

“But of course. That's why Osborn hired me. For my social graces,” Daken replied with a smirk.

Loki let out a tiny chuckle. “And may I ask, dear sir, what is your name and where have you come from? I am quite sure I have never seen you before you began your _avenging_ career.”

“Daken Akihiro,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “Osborn plucked me from a drab and glamourless life of obscurity. I've never done anything worthy of note before coming into his employ.”

“It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Daken,” Loki said sweetly, tilting her head in a way that let her cast Daken a gaze through her eyelashes despite the discrepancy in stature.

“How does he _do_ that?” Daken heard Gargan hiss. “... Also, is Loki _really_ a chick or is he going to be _surprised?_ ”

“I don’t think Daken would really mind,” Karla sighed.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” Daken said graciously and kissed her hand again. “Perhaps I might atone for my associate’s rudeness with dinner?” The invitation earned a loud and very derisive snort from Ares, a groan from Karla, and Loki laughed outright.

“Oh you are _very_ beguiling _indeed_ , Mister Daken!” Loki noted appreciatively, plucking her hand from Daken’s and lifting it to lightly touch his face. “I wonder if Norman Osborn quite realizes what a dangerous creature he has captured?” she hummed and then dropped her voice to something less than a whisper and added, “or when he shall realize that this dangerous creature has _yet_ to be captured?”

Daken replaced the pleasant smile with a dark smirk. At that moment, the door opened and Osborn came striding in, then froze abruptly (Hand nearly slammed into him from behind) two steps into the room as he caught sight of Loki.

“ _What_ are you doing in here?” he demanded in a calm but utterly frigid voice.

“I wished to exchange pleasantries with Ares,” Loki replied innocently. “But he was very rude to me. Mister Daken was just apologizing for his teammate’s boorish behavior. Very diplomatic. I think he has much _potential_ , Mister Osborn,” she said sweetly as Osborn’s glare turned on Daken and his eye twitched. “Such a _sweet_ , polite boy. I like him. He is such a _vast_ improvement over that awful, scruffy Wolverine the X-Men have. Yours is definitely the superior model.” She gave Daken’s arm a pat. “But I really should be going now. I hope you all have a pleasant evening. And Ares, may you die of old age, peacefully and in your bed.”

Ares eyes flashed and his face flushed with fury at the insult as he was abruptly on his feet. “You nattering _harlot!_ I will relieve you of your _head!_ ”

“ _Ares_ ,” Osborn snapped, glaring at the seething war-god as Loki let out a triumphant chuckle and started toward the door. Osborn’s hand clamped around her arm as his glare shifted to her again. “Don’t you _dare_ leave on foot,” he hissed.

“Oh but Mister Osborn, I didn’t _bring_ a vehicle,” Loki protested, pouting.

“ _Loki_.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Loki rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Really Mister Osborn, I’m beginning to think you might be _ashamed_ of me,” she said as she vanished.

000

Osborn ranted at Daken in his office for almost forty minutes about how he was to under no circumstances have anything to do with the God(dess) of Mischief. As if Osborn hadn't already torn away that possibility by shooing Loki out of the tower before Daken could finish charming her. He zoned out through most of the pointless diatribe, offering vague affirmatives at the rhythmically appropriate places and waiting for Osborn to run out of hot air. Finally, Daken was released back into the wild and made his way blankly toward his suite, debating whether it would make him feel better to go out and find somebody pretty to fuck or somebody disgusting to kill.

He hadn't yet decided when he stepped through the door to his suite and froze, his nose greeted by the smell of fur, sea spray, wood smoke, tar and mistletoe. Daken slowly rounded the corner to spot Loki sitting at the table in front of his balcony doors, smirking at him over a snifter of particularly delicious smelling brandy, the bottle and a second glass sitting next to her. “So...” she purred. “Did you actually _want_ to buy me dinner, or would you rather skip ahead?”

“... And here I was prepared to be bitter all evening that Osborn chased you off,” Daken said softly, making his way slowly toward her.

“Do you honestly believe that a miserable little wretch like Norman Osborn could chase _me_ anywhere?” Loki raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

“I wasn't sure you'd find me interesting enough to come back,” Daken replied.

“Hm.” Loki took a sip of brandy, her eyes combing over him. “... There is something _very_ interesting about you.”

Daken thought back to what Ares had told him as he settled into the other chair at the little table and returned her gaze. “That I'm 'gilded'?” he asked softly.

She was quiet for a moment, looking him straight in the eye now. “Yes. It's... puzzling. How did you become so anointed, Mister Daken?”

“I was hoping... perhaps _you_ could tell me,” Daken said, catching the brandy bottle and pouring some into the second glass. Loki raised a curious eyebrow at him again. “All I know of my 'anointment' as of this moment is a phrase. _Hirpi Sorani_.” He started raising his glass to take a sip, but at that moment heard Loki's pulse speed up and saw her eyes widen slightly. He paused, lowering the glass again. “... You know it.”

“ _That's_ what you are,” Loki whispered, an excited energy in her voice. “Oh child, you _really_ ought to be more careful who you tell.” She giggled giddily and reached out, cupping Daken's cheek. “How _marvelous!_ ”

Daken debated for a few moments and then decided to go with honesty, because presumably the Goddess of Lies was difficult to fool. “I don't know what it means. Ares called me that, I think he believed I already knew, but... Romulus has kept me ignorant to my purpose.”

Loki tsked softly. “... Poor thing,” she said, and the change of her pulse matched the way her features slumped. Somehow Daken thought that it was no small thing to earn Loki's pity. “The Feronia are quite well known for their cruelty... Well known and not well regarded.”

“I've been researching and have only been able to find one use of that phrase, in Pliny the Elder, but it offered me nothing in the way of enlightenment,” Daken explained, pressing his pheromones toward affection with a dash of protectiveness, hoping that might encourage the goddess to give him what he needed.

“I don't imagine so,” she agreed, studying him with rapt fascination.

“I was ready to pursue the topic further with Ares, even if that meant showing weakness by admitting my ignorance.”

“A pure waste. It would avail you nothing,” Loki said, shaking her head, and then her expression went unsettlingly blank and her eyes stared with an intensity that was scouring. “... What are their true names?” she whispered. “Romulus and Remus, what are their _occultus nomen?_ ”

Daken faltered for a brief moment. “I- I don't know.”

She stared at him with the same blank intensity for a few more moments before sighing and giving a soft chuckle as she dropped her gaze. “You're lying, of course. But I can respect that, considering your position... For the time being, at least.”

“And you're not going to tell me anything now,” Daken said quietly, stomach knotting.

Loki looked back up at him and was quiet for a few more seconds, looking thoughtful. “Actually, I think I should quite like you to know,” she murmured. “You will no doubt find it illuminating, and you just might change your mind about giving me the keys to the Eternal City...” Daken's heart was in his throat, and he didn't bother to hide his interest as he leaned forward slightly in his chair. Loki smirked at him. “Drink your brandy. You're insulting me,” she ordered.

Daken dutifully picked up his glass again and took a sip. He held it on his tongue for a rather long moment before swallowing. “This is... quite possibly the best brandy I have ever tasted.”

“Well, you mortals have very low standards to go by,” Loki said with a pleased grin, taking a sip from her own glass. “Hm... _Hirpi Sorani_ , the Wolves of Soranus...” she mused, eyes going distant. “I have little surprise that you were able to find nothing of them, and asking Ares would have been utterly useless. No one loyal to Rome would ever divulge anything of the _Hirpini_. To do so was ever the highest form of treason.” Her lips suddenly pulled into a coquettish smirk. “So _well done_ finding yourself a 'barbarian' wolf-bitch to ask.”

“That didn't even occur to me. I was simply thinking that you are a goddess known for her intelligence,” Daken replied.

Loki hummed a small chuckle. “It's good that you don't rely entirely on that delightfully impish _talent_ of yours for charm,” she noted before suddenly sobering. “You are somewhat aware of the relationship between gods and sacrifice?”

“I'm not sure I truly understand its function,” Daken admitted, shaking his head. “In the eastern hemisphere it seems tied largely to food, and in the western to blood.”

“It is not _sustenance_ per say, we look after our own meals, though it is sustaining,” Loki rested an arm on the table and chewed on her lip. “Hm... how to describe it...” She closed her eyes for a moment. “... Warmth. The closest analogy I can make for adoration, that you would be able to understand, is warmth. Not simply 'warmth' in the sense of comfort, but in the sense of a necessity without which one would perish.”

Daken frowned slightly. “My impression is that there are many gods in Asgard, but people pray to only a few,” he noted.

“Devotions are also made to pantheons as a whole,” Loki clarified. “Devotions to Asgard as a whole or to Allfather Odin flow down to all the gods of Asgard. And the gods who are lesser also require less.”

“I see,” Daken nodded, watching Loki take a sip of her brandy.

“And as you said of the difference between east and west, it is true that different gods will request and require different manner of sacrifices,” Loki continued. “Many gods will have a very specific specie of animal or plant of which they demand the flesh... And in some cases, some gods ask a more esoteric fair.”

Daken pursed his lips for a moment and shook his head. “I don't follow.”

“... The Feronia require pain for their devotions,” Loki said in a much softer voice. “And unlike the Tēteoh, taking sacrifices out of their enemies would not suffice. It is... not pure enough...” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “The sacrifices were provided by the _Hirpi Sorani_ , the most secret priesthood which is said to be chosen of mortals with blood of the Feronia in their veins. _Hirpini_.” Loki paused, focusing her eyes on Daken again, and there was a reluctant melancholy in them. “... In the Empire's time, the Wolves were well compensated. For ten years of service to the Eternal City, not only were they provided a land parcel and a generous stipend, but the next five generations of their descendants were exempt from taxation and draft.”

“... That sounds unusual,” Daken noted quietly.

“Utterly unique. These were the highest paid public servants in the Empire,” Loki nodded, expression still sober as she looked away again. “To make a comparison, it seems not entirely unlike your professional athletes, being paid exorbitant sums to ravage their bodies and lives... But the _Hirpini_ were not known to the public. They were not recorded. The documents exempting them from tax and draft are the only means to track the membership, and what we may or may not know about the rituals is shrouded in rumor.”

“... Pliny mentions Valerius Soranus,” Daken said softly.

“Valerius and his entire family were crucified for the crime of breaking his silence,” Loki said, shaking her head. “He did not tell much before he was arrested.”

“What did he manage to say?” Daken asked, watching her.

Loki paused, seeming to think for a moment. “Of course he was the first to make public that the Wolves existed at all,” she said. “And he illuminated a few rituals of self-mutilation. Fire-walking and a form of self-flagellation are what I have heard of, though I'm sure that is the least of it.” She went quiet for a moment, gaze dropping to the floor. “From the aforementioned fiscal records, it can be extrapolated that _Hirpini_ would serve a term of ten years, and at any given time there would have been a score of them. Both of those facets are quite unusual. For most gods in that region, devotion was to last a mortal lifetime. And while a temple for one of the Olympians might perhaps have servants to maintain the structure and grounds in such numbers, the priests or priestesses overseeing worship would be very few... I speculate that both the short term of service and the large number of practitioners are due to the fact that a mortal body can only take so much punishment.” Loki's voice grew quieter, “It would take... very unusual circumstances to acquire the necessary allotment of pain from just one individual. Such an individual would have to be as easy to make _bleed_ as an ordinary mortal... yet far more resilient against death.”

Daken's blood went cold. He stared at her as time slid by, every second tearing viciously at him. His stomach squirmed and twisted like a living creature was trying to get out of it. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled a few steps, unable to find his balance, before his knees gave out and he started to fall. Arms caught him gently from behind. Daken wheezed and gasped, lungs seeming reluctant to take air, and heard hysterical sounds falling from his own lips.

“Poor little jackanapes,” Loki murmured, and her voice didn't sound mocking. “... I know what it is to suffer eons of pain and humiliation under a cruel lord and master.” She carefully adjusted him in her arms, manhandling him like a doll, until he was facing her. Daken clung as he desperately tried with all he had to just _breath_. “... I want no pain of you, sweetling,” she whispered and kissed him.

Daken was fighting to get control of his basic facilities, and contact, being held, being caressed, being cherished, should have helped calm him down. If this _thing_ touching him were anything close to human. Her scent was a collection of ideas, not the smell of anything _real_. She supported his weight too effortlessly, and Daken knew she must be using only the tiniest fraction of her strength for the task. And her pulse and respiration hadn't faltered a bit when she'd lied. He didn't kiss back.

Eventually the fact that she was trying to kiss an unresponsive mannequin became too awkward to ignore, and Loki finally drew back slightly. “Poor dear boy. Truth is cruelty, isn't it. Here it has stolen your charm,” she simpered.

“Yes, of course. It's the truth that hurts,” Daken replied, fighting a surge of nausea and pulling himself away, knowing he only managed to take that step back because she let him. “They do say ignorance is bliss... I'm sorry, my lady, but I think I may not be very good company tonight.”

“And yet I would think you are quite in need of company,” Loki pointed out, voice deceptively silken.

If he wanted to be gutted, he'd go to Lester. In fact he might. Daken drew a deep, shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his head, mind racing for something to grab onto, some dagger to stick into her. “... What happened to your wife?” he asked at last, glancing back up at Loki.

She went very still, her eyes widening slightly.

“The Eddas just sort of lose track of her. She seems to be missing from the Ragnarok narrative,” Daken explained, watching her closely, listening to her pulse. She was angry.

After a few more seconds of silence, Loki finally spoke in a faux-calm voice that was underpinned by the slightest tremor. “If you indeed desire solitude, I shall bother you no more this eve, Mister Daken. Keep the brandy as a gift,” she said, and a moment later she was gone.

Daken stared at the place she had been for a few seconds, his mind blank. Then he turned to consider the bottle and glasses still sitting on his table. If anything could get him drunk, it was divine spirits.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You guys. You guys. You guys. I didn't make this shit up.
> 
> The 'Wolves of Soranus' was a REAL THING! Okay, to be fair, in the case of the _real thing_ they were not quite as secret as I made them to be here. I went big on the durration of their tax exemption (I couldn't find how long it actually lasted) and the thing about pain-as-sacrifice I embellished to fit it to the Marvel-Romulus and overall Marvel-thology. Here is Pliny the Elder: "... the Hirpi performed a yearly sacrifice at Mount Soracte upon embers and were not scorched, and because of this enjoyed permanent exemption from the military and all other burdens." Also, while I'm talking about Pliny, in the real passage about Valerius Soranus, his crime was speaking the hidden/secret name of the city-god(s), some people already knew that the _Hirpi Sorani_ existed, they just didn't know much at all _about_ them because they were so secret. In Egyptian, Greek and Roman paradigms, knowing the secret name of a god gives you power over them; the reason the core city of Rome has lasted so long and never truly fallen is attributed to the fact that its secret name was so well guarded. Key difference between 'real' mythology and what I did here: in 'real' mythology Romulus and Remus were the city's founders, but not gods, and the personification of Rome was a separate entity that was in some cases represented as a single goddess or sometimes a male/female pair (with an altered version of Apollo). The _Hirpi Sorani_ were dedicated to both of these and their practices were believed to be vitally important to sustaining the empire (which is why they were offered so many benefits).
> 
> I stumbled across the _Hirpi Sorani_ while researching for something completely unrelated, but as I read it believed that I had struck fanon gold. Chalk this one up to puttin 'useless' degrees to work.


End file.
